The Sacrifice
by Hebi-san
Summary: Whoever said that Hisana's death wasn't planned? ByakuyaHisanaSenbonzakura


Story title: The Sacrifice

Oneshot

Disclaimer: None of the Bleach characters are mine…obviously.

Note: Byakuya's a cold man

Warning: _ Keep in mind that I've just watched the anime, I haven't read the manga ( currently my economy don't allow that…L ) so if there's any facts or such that are just dead wrong you'll have to excuse a poor sod like me._

Characters: Byakuya, Hisana, Senbonzakura

Summary: Whoever said Hisana's death wasn't planned?

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Byakuya Kuchiki woke up slowly, blinking his grey eyes in the darkness. The hospital room was filled with nothing but long shadows, and silver moonlight. A loud snore disrupted the silence and he glanced towards the door from whence the sound had come. On a simple futon there lay a dark figure, and it took the Kuchiki lord a moment before he recognised his fukutaichou.

Why the boy insisted on sleeping in here while he recuperated was beyond him, but he let him. He came in handy when he needed something fetched and didn't feel like getting up to get it himself.

Sitting up with a bit of effort he leaned against the headboard of the simple hospital bed and sat staring out the window.

The night was calm. The breeze that flowed in from the open window was soft and warm and smelled of sakura blossoms, a fact that pleased him greatly. It was a night for contemplation. It was almost as if the creator (if there was something like that?) had designed these sorts of night with the sole purpose of self-reflection.

Unbidden thoughts and memories he had long put to rest came to the surface and for the faintest of moments he felt a surge of fear and shame but as usual he pushed it aside with the notion of that he was too good for such shameful emotions.

He did not push the memories away though, but instead let them flow freely until they settled enough for him to be able to calmly sort through them with a sharply analytical mind.

Byakuya Kuchiki was nothing if not analytical. Given enough time he could take apart every thought or emotion into their tiniest aspects. Even such an (according to rumour) indefinable emotion as love.

He had done so before, when he had first met his late wife on that fateful day all those years ago. To be honest he had hardly found the bleeding, haggard looking woman to be more than a nuisance at first aristocratic glance. To save her from the raving merchant and his sons was an act that he had merely considered his duty as a shinigami, and had not his much more empathic friend Kaien Shiba convinced him otherwise he would not have thought twice about leaving her in Rukongai's slums where she belonged. Her wounds were none concern of his.

But even then he remembered that Senbonzakura had taken an interest in the cowering woman, and he had eventually been intrigued and had sought the woman out where she had lain in the hospital bed at the 4th division.

Hisana, as she had told him her name was, had never had a reiatsu to speak of and he had decided that his first impression of her had been correct. She was weak, nothing but another rat from the slums- but still Senbonzakura hadn't let him stay away.

As time went by and he found himself more and more frequently at her side, he also noticed that his zanpakuto's thoughts were growing darker. Were starting to be tinted with blood and reverberated with whispers of things yet to come.

He had never found her particularly beautiful.

To be honest, that first night when they had consummated their marriage he had had to fight the urge to cringe away from her touch, but as time went by and the stain of Rukongai was gradually covered with a veil of noble wealth and manners he learned to adapt and came to even desire her pliant body.

For a brief amount of time he had actually let himself entertain the thought that he could love the creature in his bed, but he had eventually found this to be another ridiculous hope. And Senbonzakura continued to whisper to him, her words now etched with the promises of strength and power.

She could be greedy like that, which was a nature of hers he had never shared. Perhaps it was indeed the only thing they didn't share. The one thing that would always keep him and his beloved zanpakuto apart. For he had all that he needed… or so he had made himself believe.

But he had finally realised that they both demanded submission and worship, and craved the power to be dominant, and because of that the road of cooperation between them had been long- sometimes seemingly endless.

The fact that he had still not attained bankai even after all this time was after all growing into rather the subject amongst his "fellow" (as they say, as if such lower beings could ever be equal to him) shinigami, and it was a subject which was more often then than not attached to ridicule and mocking words. Such disrespect was beyond unacceptable. They both realised this, but yet neither was willing to be the first to bow down before the other.

Until she had whispered within his soul. A solution. She had come up with a plan- something that would satisfy them both in terms of submission and domination, and would give them the power and strength they could only ever attain if they cooperated.

For where he demanded her power, she now demanded a sacrifice. Something befitting for a goddess. And he had finally come to realise why his beautiful zanpakuto had made him wed the slum rat that was now his wife. That was now lying in his bed and entertaining his wealth with such unworthy hands.

It had in truth been the most horrific experience in his life. Not even he had been able to keep up the mask of stoic indifference at all times. Thankfully they had all, all the ones he truly cared about such as Kaien, Ukitake and even loud Kukaku, and they had all assumed his reaction that of a loving husband rather than a murderer.

He had felt Senbonzakura devour her. Had watched on in silence as she grew weaker. Until she had finally lain on her death bed rather than in his bed. He had sat with her, had whispered words he no longer could recall, and had heard her soft reply just before the first sakura blossom bloomed. So he had vowed to look after her sister, and she had died with a smile still grazing her lips, utterly unaware of him being her murderer.

And he had kept true to his word, had eventually come to protect the child with his own life at stake, and for some reason he had an inkling that he'd continue to do so for a very long time.

He figured that was the least he could do, even for a gutter-rat such as her.

She had been his wife after all.

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Author's notes: Nah, this isn't how I think Hisana really died, and it has nothing to do with any of my other stories, it was just an idea that wouldn't stop bugging me until I had written it down.

I wanted to try out writing something without dialogue, which I don't think I've ever done before. Basic attempt to try and make a text and a story semi-interesting even without the use of dialogue… Please tell me how you think that went and _review_!


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